


Midorima and Takao Drabbles

by Lys ap Adin (lysapadin)



Series: Drabble Posts [3]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Drabble Collection, Ficlet Collection, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-05
Updated: 2013-06-22
Packaged: 2017-11-18 00:22:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/554842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lysapadin/pseuds/Lys%20ap%20Adin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Midorima/Takao drabbles and ficlets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Drabbles and fills from Tumblr memes and prompts. New chapters will be added when more drabbles accumulate.

Midorima and Takao Drabbles

 

**"easy to just push it up"  
#Takao likes to feel pretty**

There's a lot of reasons Kazunari likes to wear skirts, some of them simple and some of them not, but this is one of his favorites. When he's in a skirt, it is easy (so very easy) for Shintarou to put his hands on Kazunari's knees and run them up his thighs, pushing the hem of the skirt up as he goes. Kazunari likes that, and he likes how it feels to spread his knees wider so that Shintarou can fit himself between them as he strokes his hands over Kazunari's hips, skin against skin (Shintarou always, always untapes his fingers for this, and that still gets Kazunari hot every time.)

He thinks Shintarou likes it, too, at least judging from the way Shintarou touches him, moving his fingers over Kazunari's skin slow and deliberate, following his thighs up and tracing them along Kazunari's hips, teasing the tips of them along the edges of his panties and over the curve of Kazunari's ass. Shintarou watches him, eyes dark even behind the lenses of his glasses, at least until Kazunari draws him close and kisses him again, slow and filthy. He likes to slide his tongue into Shintarou's mouth, tracing the textures of it and learning all its corners, and likes the sounds Shintarou makes against his lips.

When he's in a skirt, it's so easy for Shintarou to hook his fingertips under the edges of the panties and just draw them aside, and easy for him to press slick fingers into Kazunari just like that. Easy, too, for Kazunari to hook his arms around Shintarou's shoulders and groan against his mouth, just a little wanton with how good that feels, and to tell him to come on, hurry up, until Shintarou presses closer. Then all Kazunari has to do is wrap his legs around Shintarou's hips and hold on while Shintarou sinks home, feeling the hard stretch of it in every tingling nerve in his body and struck breathless with the hoarse sound Shintarou makes against his throat.

Kazunari winds his fingers in Shintarou's hair and uses his leverage to grind himself against Shintarou, gasping as he does, and Shintarou takes the hint for what it is and _moves_. He holds Kazunari's hips, fingers spread wide against the curve of his ass, and fucks him just the way Kazunari wants it, deep and hard, each long thrust driving the groan right out of Kazunari's throat. Kazunari flexes against him, gripping Shintarou's shoulders and urging him on, broken phrases and half words tumbling from his lips as pleasure builds at the base of his spine, doubling and redoubling on itself until Kazunari thinks he might fly apart with it. When Shintarou shifts a hand and palms him through the thin silk of his panties, he does, tipping his head back and groaning as pleasure races through him, fierce as lightning, wrecking him completely.

He must look like a wreck after it releases him, dress rucked up and stained, flushed beneath the make-up Shintarou has kissed off his skin, loose-limbed and dazed. Shintarou seems to like that best, because he always raises his head and watches Kazunari come undone, at least until he can't hold himself back any longer and falls over that edge after Kazunari. But that's just as it should be, and Kazunari's always right there with open arms, ready to catch him.

 

**"sex under a piano"  
#Takao is wily**

"But it's a classic!" Kazunari protests, to no avail.

Shin-chan continues to look at him as though he has proposed something utterly sacrilegious. "Absolutely not."

Kazunari makes a face at him. "You're crushing my dreams," he points out. "Grinding them beneath your heel. Don't you feel the slightest bit sorry about that?"

Shin-chan actually pauses and seems to give that some thought. "No," he says, just as Kazunari's beginning to get his hopes up. Then, conscientiously, he adds, "Sorry."

Kazunari folds his arms and pulls out his last resort, a full-bore pout. "Please," he begs, giving Shin-chan the most mournful look he can manage. "As a special favor? To me?"

"We are not going to have sex on the piano," Shin-chan says, wound up enough that he barely even blushes on the word _sex_ (hey, progress! Kazunari awards himself several points). "Do you have any idea what that would do to its tuning?"

Kazunari, not being a musician, has no idea, and doesn't really care. "Pianos can be re-tuned, can't they?"

"That's not the point," Shin-chan says, and that tone's just final enough that Kazunari knows it's no good to push it.

"Fine," he says. "We'll just have to have sex _under_ the piano instead."

"What—?" Shin-chan says, just as startled by this swerve in Kazunari's purposes as he was supposed to be.

"Never say I don't know how to compromise," Kazunari says, cheerfully stripping out of his shirt as he does and watching Shin-chan's eyes go wider behind his glasses. "Come on, what are you waiting for?"

It's a measure of how far Shin-chan's come that he barely hesitates before reaching for his buttons.

Kazunari grins in his victory. Re-enacting that one scene between Julia Roberts and Richard Gere can wait (at least for now). For now, this will do nicely.

 

**"Takao knows all the possible ways to tick off Midorima, and he's extremely proud of himself for it."  
#Takao is a protective little cuss**

As the designated Keeper of Shuutoku's Ace, Takao Kazunari is intimately familiar with the care and feeding of Midorima Shintarou. Aside from the transportation issue, this is not that onerous a duty. (Admittedly, that's a pretty big issue to set aside; Kazunari consoles himself with the thought that pedaling Shin-chan all over creation is doing wonders for his stamina and leg strength.) Primarily it consists in being the buffer between their ace and, well, the rest of the world.

At first he thought that was because the world needed to be buffered from the utter weirdness of Midorima—the verbal tics; his obsessive focus on training, even above and beyond Shuutoku's already rigorous training schedule; his meticulous rituals before games; his selfish demands, three a day before the senpai give over being patient and begin making improbable pineapple-based threats; the lucky items, good grief, the lucky items are a category in their own right. It makes sense, doesn't it, to have someone relatively normal be the interface between all that bizarre behavior and the ordinary people who don't even have a love of basketball to encourage their tolerating Shin-chan's behavior.

Lately, though, Kazunari has come to think that it might be the other way around: rather than being the one to shield the world from Grade A Unfiltered Midorima, he thinks he might be the shield that comes between Midorima and the world. Shin-chan's good—he's better than good, he might even be great—at covering it when he's caught off-guard, but Kazunari's specialized now. He can tell when Midorima's nudging his glasses up his nose to buy himself time to think and to hide the moments when he's utterly confused by the behavior of the people around him, and he can tell when Shin-chan has gone stiff and silent because he genuinely doesn't know how to respond to some overture or question or because he's missed the joke completely.

Kazunari hasn't quite decided whether he thinks Shin-chan was raised by wolves or robots—maybe robots, with Teikou to be the wolves after that? yeah, that sounds plausible—but he guesses it doesn't really matter. Either way he's gotten pretty good at judging when to drop himself into Midorima's conversations with a ready quip or non sequitur, whatever seems to be in order. Sometimes it gives Shin-chan the context to figure out what's going on and others it just steers things back on track. Either way, it's not difficult and Kazunari doesn't mind doing it. He's even kind of proud of how good he is at it, and the way he sometimes feels Shin-chan's shoulders relax that minute bit when he hooks an arm around them and interjects himself into the conversation.

That's the way it should be, he reasons. Midorima's _his_ ace now, and Kazunari'll be damned before he lets anyone else mess with his ace.

(Now, if only he could persuade Shin-chan to take turns with the rickshaw, life would be perfect.)

 

**"So, like, is it a bad thing that I've convinced myself that Takao Kazunari likes to wear pretty dresses (and their accoutrements) so he can feel pretty (and tease the life out of Midorima)?"  
#Takao likes to feel pretty**

Takao props his foot up on the vanity and runs a damp washcloth up and down the length of it before he fills his palm with shaving cream. The water rattles in the basin and gurgles in the drain as he covers his leg from ankle to knee in snowy white, working up the lather with single-minded concentration. He reaches for the razor, holds it under the running water, and leans forward to stroke it over his skin, drawing a clean, bare line through the foam. He rinses the razor, repeats the action; his eyes are narrowed with concentration for the task. The barest tip of his tongue shows between his lips, pink.

The long expanse of his calf and thigh go quickly enough, smooth strokes of the razor gliding over the sleek lines of his muscles. Takao spends the longest time on the skin around his ankles, maneuvering the razor around the knobby protrusion of the joint carefully. He frowns in concentration, stops to run his fingers over his skin, testing it, then moves on to his knee, which earns the same careful attention and short, delicate strokes of the razor.

Remarkably, he does not nick himself even once.

He runs his hands up and down his leg, probing for missed spots; he finds one and attends to it before he runs the washcloth over his skin again, wiping away the remnants of the shaving cream.

Then he switches legs and repeats the performance. It takes an inordinately long time to do both legs, an eternity before Takao reaches for a towel and pats his skin dry, and then still more time while he massages lotion into his skin with the same tender care.

It's not until he's done finished with these ablutions that he straightens again, balling his fists at the small of his back and stretching it, and turns to where Shintarou has been watching from his perch on the edge of the bathtub (his hands fisted on his knees; his slacks painfully tight). Takao smirks at him, saunters across the tile, and props his foot up on the lip of the bathtub next to Shintarou. "Go ahead," he says, his grin a dare. "Tell me it doesn't make a difference."

Shintarou lays his bare fingertips against Takao's calves, silky smooth and tender, and must admit, however reluctantly, that perhaps it does.

 

**Microfic meme  
#Midorima and Takao are up to no good**

**1\. Angst**

"So what do you think?" Takao asks, after she's excused herself for a moment and he's lost sight of her in the crowd. He's all but glowing as he looks to Shintarou for his opinion. "Isn't she great?"

Shintarou finds a smile for him, though he hasn't wanted to smile since he asked her for her birthday and found that it was July third. "She seems lovely," he says. "I'm sure the two of you will be very happy."

Takao just beams at him. "Oh," he says. "We are."

 

**2\. AU**

Shintarou honestly doesn't have much time for anything that isn't schoolwork or basketball, which is just as well—other people are confusing, when they aren't plain irritating. He's perfectly happy keeping to himself as much as possible, and letting his teammates and classmates get on with their lives around him.

He has no idea why the basketball team's manager seems determined to stand in the way of that, but she does with a determination that Shintarou thinks even Momoi would have found impressive. Takao-chan drags him into conversations, sometimes literally, and shows up at his desk to demand assistance with homework, and forces him to attend the matches of rival teams with her so he can provide insight about his former teammates, and she assumes a relentless breezy familiarity with him that nothing he says ("My own _mother_ doesn't call me Shin-chan!") can budge. Shintarou doesn't understand her at all, and tells her so, frequently.

What he will never admit (or so he thinks) is that, secretly, he thinks he might actually like it.

 

**3\. Crack [look, you clicked that link to read this, you probably knew this was coming]**

"I think they're rather fetching, don't you?" Takao says—well. Purrs. If one were inclined to be accurate. On the top of his head, the—there's no denying what they are, they're cat ears—are pricked forward, alert. It's the lashing of Takao's tail that gives him away; the tip of it twitches eagerly.

"You look ridiculous," Shintarou tells him. "Completely ridiculous."

Takao just grins. "Hey, you wanna pet them?" he asks, and nothing Shintarou says can persuade him that he does not want to do any such thing.

(They are silky-soft under Shintarou's fingers, softer even than Takao's hair, and when Shintarou rubs them just so, Takao dissolves into a deep, contented purr and goes boneless against him. And—somehow—Shintarou can't quite make himself stop.)

 

**4\. Crossover [tenipuri, and I am not sorry]**

Koujirou blinked a bit. "He makes you cart him around in a rickshaw?" he asked, not sure he'd actually heard that one right, or that his cousin was actually serious. Sometimes it was difficult to tell with Kazunari. "Really?"

Kazunari heaved a sigh. "I couldn't make this up if I wanted to," he said. "Wait till I tell you about the lucky items."

Koujirou patted his shoulder sympathetically. "And here I thought Yuupyon was demanding."

 

**5\. First time**

He doesn't even see it coming the first time—Shintarou is in the middle of expounding upon the many reasons that astrology is a perfectly valid science when Takao just laughs and catches his shoulder. Before Shintarou even realizes what is happening, Takao leans in and presses their mouths together, quick and casual, cutting Shintarou off mid-word with it. "Sorry," he says when he pulls away again. "I just needed to do that. Go on, you were saying?"

But Shintarou can't remember a single word of it, thanks to the way his lips are tingling and his heart is thudding against his ribs.

 

**6\. Fluff**

He's not even going to pretend that this isn't his favorite—warm sunshine pouring through the window, nowhere to be and nothing to do, the low murmur of something lazy and jazzy on the radio, and Shin-chan's bare fingers sliding through his hair while Kazunari dozes in his lap.

Kazunari smiles and nudges into Shin-chan's fingers, perfectly content.

 

**7\. Humor**

Takao not only seems to find the humor in everything—a talent which Shintarou does envy, a little—but also has an evil sense of humor of his own.

It is for this reason that Shintarou neglects to warn Takao about Kuroko—also possessed of a wicked sense of humor—and enjoys the fallout immensely.

At least until Takao and Kuroko join forces and turn their collective evil on the rest of them.

 

**8\. Hurt/Comfort [stretching the limits of 'micro' here]**

Even with all the deliberate caution in the world, it was bound to happen sometime. They played hard, all of them did, and injuries—bruises, sprains and strains, torn ligaments, bad knees—well, they weren't ever fun, but it was practically the price of admission, wasn't it? Sometimes, no matter how careful a guy was, he got hurt.

Not that Shin-chan seemed to have much in the way of a zen approach to the basic realities of life at the best of times.

This was not the best of times.

Oh, Shin-chan wasn't saying much at all—after the initial startled exclamation, not even a curse (in other circumstances, Kazunari would have been disappointed by that restraint), he'd just pressed his lips together so firmly that they showed white and had held his hand very carefully while their coach had bent over and frowned thoughtfully. It was probably just a jammed finger, he'd said, but he'd told Shin-chan to go get it looked at and had detailed Kazunari (of course) to go with him.

Which Kazunari had, standing by while the doctor had manipulated Shin-chan's fingers and asked him to flex them this way and that, and so he'd seen the subtle shift in Shin-chan's posture when he'd agreed with their coach's diagnosis.

Huh, Kazunari thought, as the doctor began taping up Shin-chan's fingers and dispensing advice about ice and ibuprofen, Shin-chan was really, truly freaking out over this. Made sense, of course, given the anal retentive way he taped his fingers and attended to their care, but—huh.

That was no good.

He continued to shoulder both their bags when the doctor turned Shin-chan, armed with a securely-taped finger and an icepack, lose, and fell in at his side readily enough. "Guess this means you'll have to take it easy for a few days, huh?" he started out. Shin-chan didn't say anything. "Though I bet that you'll still have to do all the conditioning exercises. Don't need you hands to run laps." He checked on Shin-chan, who didn't look noticeably pleased by this prospect. Well. Laps. "Least it's a while till the season gets started, huh?"

"Yes," Shintarou said, and that was all—tight and clipped and maybe, just maybe, a little strained.

"Well, it'll be fine," Kazunari told him, thinking about that. "Plenty of time to recover in there, and I bet you won't even have to use any selfish requests to keep from having to play while you do." That still didn't seem to be quite the right set of reassurances, though Shin-chan didn't look quite as tense. "Ah, well." He bumped his shoulder against Shin-chan's, carefully. "You hungry? I know I am." Nothing was so bad that grabbing a bite to eat couldn't make it a little better.

Shin-chan glanced at him and finally said, "I guess," and let Kazunari steer him to the nearest Maji Burger. And, as Kazunari continued to let himself rattle on, talking about the team and schoolwork and their classmates, Shin-chan's shoulders continued to loosen up. Wasn't back to normal, not by a long shot, but then, Shin-chan. One had to be flexible about the whole concept of 'normal' around him.

And even if he wasn't, well. That's what Kazunari figured he was there for, after all. He stole some more of Shin-chan's fries and grinned at Shin-chan's subsequent irritation, because if nothing else, looking after Shin-chan was pretty much his métier these days.

Honestly, he wouldn't have had it any other way.

 

**9\. Smut**

There are very few reliable ways to shut Kazunari up, and Shintarou knows each one intimately.

This is his favorite: Kazunari spread out beneath him, splayed open for him, mouth opening and closing on silent gasps for breath while Shintarou moves inside him, driving him to the edge of pleasure and then beyond.

 

**10\. UST**

Shintarou doesn't know why it is that he cannot seem to keep his eyes away from Takao—cannot seem to keep himself from looking at the way Takao's hair falls in his eyes unless Takao pins it up, or the way Takao's eyes are clear and grey, sometimes laughing and sometimes as intent as the hawk that he is on the court. Cannot look away from the sleek development of Takao's shoulders and arms. (It's ridiculous, they all have perfectly good physiques; why should Takao's be special?) Cannot stop himself from studying the line Takao's back makes when he stoops over a sink to splash water over his face, or the paler skin that shows where his shirt rides up.

Shintarou can't stop looking, and so he resolves to keep doing so until he figures out why it is that Takao is so very compelling.

 

**Trick or Treat  
#chocolate**

If Takao knows the meaning of the word shame, it is only as an abstract concept. That's why he's currently leaning against Shintarou's shoulder, wheedling with all his might. "C'mon," he coaxes, "just one bite." He's holding out a bit of chocolate broken off the bar that he's been making indecent noises over for approximately half an hour (and the bar is only a third gone). "You know you wanna."

Shintarou does not know any such thing. On the other hand, Takao is perfectly capable of badgering him until he gives in. He might as well surrender while one of them still retains his dignity. "Fine—" he begins.

Takao pushes the chocolate into his mouth almost before he finishes acquiescing; it's already begun to melt in his fingers and smears against Shintarou's lips, body-warm and bittersweet. It finishes melting on his tongue while Takao watches him attentively. "Well?"

Shintarou licks the chocolate from his lips and thinks that he can taste the salt of Takao's skin beneath the velvet richness of the chocolate. "Not bad," he says. "More?"

And Takao obliges him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hot chocolate | Cat-verse | All Four Seasons | Secret Agents

**#suimasendeshita #branch-and-root**  
#MidoTaka and hot chocolate  
#tooth-rotting fluff 

Life with Shin-chan was a many-splendored thing, there was no doubt about that, and it would have taken a far, far better man than Kazunari was not to appreciate the snits that Shin-chan could work himself into. 

Kazunari was a horrible person at heart, had made his peace with that, and thus the highlight of many of his mornings was the Midorima Shintarou "They Call THAT A Lucky Item?!" shit show. Over the years, Shin-chan had accumulated a startling array of knick-knacks and odds and ends, all of which he kept organized and carefully catalogued according to some arcane system of his own, and he was often able to resort to this collection to satisfy Oha Asa's whims. However, and this was the part Kazunari really enjoyed watching while he lounged in their bed, before Shin-chan could bring himself to do that, he had to spend a few minutes in ritual exasperation complaining that the lucky items were getting more and more ridiculous every day.

And that, of course, was the fun part. Shin-chan could get very cutting in his comments, and watching him stomp around the bedroom was always a good time. Also, Shin-chan wasn't entirely wrong; Takao privately thought that the Oha Asa daily items were getting progressively more peculiar. 

"I'm pretty sure Oha Asa is trolling you, you know." Shin-chan had paused to take a breath and had both hands in his hair. Tufts of it were sticking out from between his fingers at crazy angles, and Shin-chan was looking a touch demented. "No, really. I'm pretty sure they know there's a guy who actually does go to the trouble of collecting all the lucky items and now they just want to see how far you'll go. I bet they've got people with cameras following you around."

Shin-chan looked torn between aggravation and horror. "Don't be ridiculous."

Kazunari rolled over onto his stomach and kicked his feet in the air. "Shin-chan, I love you, but I am so _not_ the person in this relationship who is ridiculous, and you know it."

"That is a matter of some debate." Shin-chan scuffed his fingers through his hair and let his hands drop to his sides. His hair continued to stand up, lending him a certain mad scientist je ne sais quoi. "This is completely ridiculous, you know. How on earth am I supposed to carry a cup of _hot chocolate_ around with me all day?"

Kazunari grinned at him. "Pretty carefully, I guess."

"You are not helping," Shin-chan informed him before stomping out of the bedroom. He was heading for the bathroom by the sounds of it—yep, there was the creak and slam of the door. 

Kazunari permitted himself a moment to bury his face in the pillow and just laugh before rolling out of bed and heading for the kitchen and the coffee pot. 

By the time he emerged again, Shin-chan had passed through anger and into resignation. He had restored his hair to its normal order and was grumbling under his breath about finding a coffee shop on his way to campus. Kazunari grinned and tightened the cap on his coffee thermos. "Hey, Shin-chan." He waited until he was sure that Shin-chan was actually focusing on him and not his private litany of complaints. "Think fast."

The thermos wasn't particularly aerodynamic, but Kazunari was just that good. It smacked into Shin-chan's open palms precisely as he'd intended it to, and he leaned back against the counter to enjoy the look of open befuddlement on Shin-chan's face. Shin-chan looked at the thermos, then at him, and his internal debate was perfectly transparent—what was this? Did he _want_ to know? Was he going to regret asking, or should he just open the thermos up and find out the hard way?

Kazunari grinned at him and waited.

The thing about Shin-chan was that really, he just couldn't help himself sometimes. It only took a few seconds for him to decide, then he unscrewed the thermos cap. The precise moment that he registered the scent of the hot chocolate wafting up from inside the thermos was clear in the way his eyes widened and his frown softened up and disappeared.

But only for a second. He immediately cleared his throat and screwed the lid on again. "I suppose this works as well. I'm surprised I didn't think of it myself."

"You're welcome," Kazunari told him fondly, and treated himself to a stolen kiss on his way past Shin-chan.

Shin-chan must have been feeling pretty sappy himself, because he didn't even protest Kazunari's coffee breath or complain about it afterwards. If that wasn't love, what was?

* * *

**#branch-and-root**  
#Midorima and Takao, Takao reverts to being a cat every now and then  
#Midorima knows perfectly well what Takao gets out of these reversions #He just doesn't want to admit it 

Shintarou gets home at the end of a day that has not, objectively speaking, been any longer than any other day, but from a purely subjective standpoint lasted approximately all week long. He steps out of his shoes and into his slippers, calling out his greeting as he does, and is terribly glad that his day is over and his vacation has officially begun.

He doesn't think anything of the fact that Kazunari hasn't come to greet him yet, because Kazunari's vacation started a couple days ago and he's been wrapped up in a new video game for most of it. He's probably still planted in front of the television and muttering dire imprecations at the zombies or the monsters or whatever it is he's so determined to defeat virtually. Chances are good that he hasn't even heard Shintarou come in.

But the living room is quiet and empty; so is the kitchen. Shintarou raises his eyebrows over this, because Kazunari's shoes were in their cubby, and heads for the bedroom, wondering whether Kazunari is planning to stage a reenactment of The Twentieth Birthday Incident. Hopefully there will be less glitter this time, if he is.

But it's not that, either.

Kazunari is in their bed, curled up in a hollow of the blankets, ostensibly sound asleep. He is also a cat again. 

Shintarou looks down at the tight curl of him for a moment and then sighs. "You do this to spite me, don't you?"

Kazunari flicks one ear; Shintarou is fairly certain that there is a gleam of slit-pupilled eyes looking up at him, too.

Shintarou shakes his head and sits on the edge of the bed. "I really don't know what it is you get out of this," he tells Kazunari as he strokes his fingers down the curve of Kazunari's spine, skritching his fingers through the thick, soft fur there. 

Kazunari uncurls himself and stands, stretching and yawning, and immediately pads over to drape himself across Shintarou's lap. He meows, imperious, until Shintarou gives in and strokes his fingers over the softer fur of Kazunari's stomach.

"You do realize it's going to be impossible to take you to the beach like this," Shintarou informs him. 

Kazunari flicks his tail, manages to look like he's smiling, and begins to purr.

* * *

**#andreaphobia**  
#Midorima and Takao, all four seasons  
#shameless fluff 

_Summer_

"Oh my god," Takao groans. "Oh my god, please just let me die." He's flat on his back, spread-eagled on the porch, and only barely meets the minimum standards of decency. If he stands up without buttoning the cut-offs he's wearing, chances are very good that he'll end up flashing any innocent bystanders in the vicinity. 

"It's not _that_ hot," Shintarou tells him, nudging him in the ribs with his toe.

"I am roasting alive." Takao lifts a hand and waves it in a feeble attempt to generate a breeze. " _Roasting_ , Shin-chan." 

He doesn't look like he's roasting and Shintarou knows for a fact that Takao has played basketball through summer heat every bit as relentless as the current heat wave. If he says anything, Takao will only insist that that is somehow different. "I don't know what you expect me to do about it."

Takao turns a look on him that is probably meant to be piteous. "Put me out of my misery, Shin-chan."

Shintarou deliberates for a moment and empties his glass of ice water on Takao, who comes up shrieking and does, in fact, nearly lose his shorts while he sputters and demands an explanation for Shintarou's wanton cruelty. But even he cannot dispute the fact that he did ask for it.  
 _  
Autumn_

Shin-chan really likes the autumn, though he doesn't really talk about it much. Wouldn't, probably, even if Kazunari went ahead and asked him about it, or would say something gruff about _of course I find the cooler weather a relief after the summer_ or _naturally a Cancer would find the change in seasons conducive because blah blah blah_ , but it would all be a bunch of bullshit. Shin-chan just likes the autumn. It's all there to see in the way his mouth softens when he looks at the changing colors of the leaves, and the way he pauses, sometimes, when he thinks himself unobserved, so he can turn his face up to the falling leaves and smile. It's in the way his mood changes and mellows, to the extent that he ever mellows out, and the way he smiles when the wind picks up. 

Kazunari's not the fan of autumn that Shin-chan is, but he likes it for Shin-chan's sake, and he likes it for the way the nights turn cooler and make it practical to fit himself against Shin-chan and snuggle close beneath the covers. And really, those are pretty good reasons in themselves, aren't they?  
 _  
Winter_

Takao lets the curtain drop and turns away with a grin. "Yep, it's definitely beginning to stick. You're not going to be able to go anywhere tomorrow." 

Shintarou frowns at him; his evident glee is unseemly. "I have a duty to my patients—"

"To not get yourself killed in a futile attempt to transport yourself through a blizzard just so you can check on their runny noses." Takao comes away from the window and plants himself astride Shintarou's lap. "Face it, Shin-chan, you're going to have to suck it up and take a snow day tomorrow." He winds his arms around Shintarou's shoulders and smirks down at him. "Oh, _darn_."

Shintarou hates it when he has to admit that Takao has a point, however small. "You shouldn't sound so happy about it."

"Why not?" Takao wriggles closer and plays with the fine hair at Shintarou's nape. "The snow is gonna trap me at home with my incredibly hot doctor boyfriend, and we're not gonna have anything to do but keep one another entertained. Damn right I'm happy about it."

"You are a terrible person," Shintarou tells him.

"And I enjoy every minute of it, too," Takao says, and bends his head to kiss Shintarou before Shintarou can tell him what he thinks of _that_.  
 _  
Spring_

He's always glad when winter begins to let go and the weather begins to warm up again, but Kazunari's favorite part of spring honestly is the cherry blossoms. Maybe that's stereotypical, but what the hell. He likes them and he likes going to look at them, and best of all, he likes that Shin-chan humors him and goes along in spite of the crowds and the drunken salarymen and the inconvenience. 

And he likes the fact that when he turns to look at Shin-chan, Shin-chan is looking back and wearing one of those soft, private expressions that are just for Kazunari.

"You've got petals in your hair," Shintarou tells him, trying to sound gruff about it. "Come here."

Kazunari laughs and bends his head so that Shintarou can brush the petals away, and doesn't say anything about how long it seems to take before Shintarou is satisfied by the his work.

* * *

**#carabarks**  
#Midorima and Takao, secret agents  
#Takao likes to feel pretty 

Midorima Shintarou is a highly trained operative; he speaks and reads five languages fluently and can make himself intelligible in four more; he is a crack shot with any kind of firearm that comes to hand; he is conversant with the intricacies of electronic espionage and with the elements of disguise. He has an encyclopedic knowledge of the underworld and can insinuate himself into any country or company with a minimum of fuss, and what is more, extract himself again without messy explosions.

(Would that he could say the same of his fellow agent, codename Blue, who positively revels in blowing things up on his way out of a mission whether the explosions are necessary or not.)

Midorima Shintarou (codename Green) knows how to mix any drink you care to name and how to dance; he has moonlighted as a jazz pianist and a concert violinist; he can deliver a delicate compliment or a fist to the jaw with perfect equanimity. He has killed men and women, but never children, taken prisoners and been taken prisoner (but has never been kept), and has been shot exactly three times. He no longer keeps count of the bones he has broken, and his skin carries a roadmap of scars that commemorates a hundred missions that he will never discuss with anyone but his handler. In short, he is a consummate secret agent.

He is currently deeply, deeply embarrassed.

The reason for his embarrassment pouts red-painted lips at him and sets a hand on the hip that is bared by the thigh-high slit in a silky red dress. "I'm sorry that I don't meet your expectations, Agent, but I'm your contact and you need to suck it up." She—he?—Midorima has no idea which pronoun to use here—narrows kohl-lined eyes at him and taps lacquered nails against that bare hip. "You didn't seem to object to getting to know me a few minutes ago."

That, Midorima would like to say, is because a few minutes ago, the world had seemed a lot simpler. "I apologize for the confusion," he says. It comes out a bit stiffly; he's never liked being caught wrong-footed. "It will not happen again, Agent Hawk."

"Oh, that would be a shame. I was rather enjoying myself." Hawk smiles at him, quick and wicked, and glances down, pointed. "I like to think you were, too."

Midorima ignores that ruthlessly, pushes his glasses into place, and decides that it is high time that they talked about the mission. "About the Kirisaki syndicate...?"

His contact laughs, open and bright, and it occurs to Midorima then that this is going to be a very _long_ mission indeed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moving in together | Bathtime | Drunken Hijinks | Three Photographs

**#skyfireflies**  
#Midorima/Takao, moving in together, establishing rules, and Midorima the control freak  
#do not ask about the toilet paper incident #it was horrible all around 

Once was a bit peculiar. Twice might have been a strange coincidence. Thrice suggested a pattern. When Kazunari took his next turn doing the dishes, drying them, and putting them away again, he then immediately found a reason to step out of the apartment. "I'm running to the store for a drink, you want anything?"

Shin-chan barely glanced up from the array of textbooks spread across the table. "Shiroku, please."

Kazunari laughed as he laced up his shoes and shrugged into his jacket. "I should have guessed that. All right, be back in a while." He let himself out and headed down the steps to the street, made a quick circuit of the building, and crept back up to their apartment again. He let himself in as quietly as he could, a process aided by the fact that he'd called the superintendent about the squeaky hinges in the door a week ago.

As he'd pretty much expected, Shin-chan was in the kitchen, rearranging all the dishes Kazunari had just put away. Kazunari leaned in the doorway and watched him work until Shin-chan caught a glimpse of him, started visibly, and then sputtered. "What on earth are you doing, sneaking around like that!" He had the sieve in his hands and fidgeted with it as he glared.

Kazunari thought about his prepared excuse—a forgotten wallet—and decided it wasn't worth bothering. "You know, you could have just said I was putting everything away in the wrong spots."

Bingo, he thought when Shin-chan flinched and immediately tried to pretend he had done no such thing. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Kazunari kicked his shoes off and came away from the door. Shin-chan stood his ground, at least until Kazunari lifted the sieve out of his hands and waved it right in front of his nose. "I caught you red-handed, you know." He set it down on the counter and studied the tight, uncertain line of Shin-chan's mouth. He was probably hoping this wasn't going to turn out like the toilet paper thing, which, fair enough. Kazunari really didn't want to do that again either, not least because it had been so stupid, start to finish. "Okay, so what's up with where I put the dishes?"

"Nothing," Shin-chan said, which was so deeply unconvincing that even he didn't look like he believed it. Kazunari just looked at him until he sighed and made a face. "You can't just put things anywhere they fit, it's not convenient, and everyone knows that the plates belong in the cabinet next to the sink."

Kazunari had to raise his eyebrows. "Not in my family they don't," he said, more amused than anything else. "Also, I wasn't putting things where they fit, I was putting them where I could reach them. Some of us aren't freakishly tall, remember?"

He watched Shin-chan take a breath and let it out again. "A step stool," he said, which only made sense because Kazunari was used to his logic.

"Or we could just put things where I can reach them to begin with," he countered.

Shin-chan made another face. "But some of those places really aren't convenient."

"To you," Kazunari reminded him. "They're plenty convenient for me."

Shin-chan opened his mouth, looking stubborn, and for a second there, Kazunari was pretty sure they _were_ going to have another toilet paper argument whether they liked it or not. Then he closed it again, sighed, and shook his head. "All right, where do you want them to go?"

Kazunari sighed too, relieved, and peeled out of his jacket. "Why don't we figure that out?"

"All right," Shin-chan said, and then, "Aren't you going to hang that up?"

Kazunari laughed, more at himself than anything else—why had he assumed that getting an apartment with Shin-chan would be easy, again?—and said, "Yeah, sure thing, Shin-chan," and made sure to line his shoes up neatly while he was at it, too.

It was all about give and take, after all, wasn't it?

* * *

**#leona-dracontis**  
#Midorima/Takao, bathtimes  
#shameless fluff is shamelessly fluffy 

"For the record," Kazunari says as he lowers himself into the steaming water, "if this ends up like last time, you're the one who cleans it up." The level of the water rises precipitously as he leans back and settles himself against Shintarou's chest, but it doesn't quite spill over the edge of the tub.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Shintarou lies while Kazunari shifts around and makes himself comfortable between his knees. Kazunari pauses and tips his head back to give him a look of frank incredulity, but Shintarou hasn't spent this long with Kazunari without learning a few things of his own, and manages to keep his expression blank.

Kazunari rolls his eyes anyway and rests his head against Shintarou's shoulder, fitting there as though made for it. "My point stands," he says. "You're on clean-up duty."

Shintarou doesn't bother with answering that; he prefers to slide his arms around Kazunari instead and spread his fingers against Kazunari's stomach, which jumps under his fingers as Kazunari chuckles. "I know how this is going to end."

Shintarou turns his face just a bit and kisses the damp skin under Kazunari's ear. "You're the one who got in the tub with me."

"Guess I did, didn't I?" Kazunari settles a little closer and smiles as he reaches a dripping hand up and strokes it through Shintarou's hair. "Oops."

He still makes Shintarou clean up after they're done, though.

* * *

**#daddakohoney**  
#TakaMido, drunk Midorima  
#it was either this or crushing angst and I elected to avoid the crushing angst 

Shin-chan is so self-possessed at all times that it's honestly not until he pays his tab, tries to stand up, and nearly falls flat on his face that Kazunari realizes that the alcohol has actually been hitting him pretty hard all along. He laughs, because he's a giggly drunk himself and because it's so rare to see Shin-chan in a moment of less than perfect grace, and laughs again when he has to reach out to steady Shin-chan. "Whoa," he says, delighted as Shin-chan tries to take a step and lurches where he stands. "Shin-chan, you're really drunk!"

Drunk or not, Shin-chan wouldn't be himself if he didn't immediately contradict Kazunari. "I am not." His diction is as precise as ever, maybe a little slower than usual, which is why he's gotten away with putting away so much beer without Kazunari catching on. (What? So Kazunari had assumed that Shin-chan had a liver of steel—well, why not? He's a walking miracle in every other sense, isn't he?) "I'm just fine."

He's listing about forty degrees to the left, which gives the lie to that. Kazunari pries himself out of his seat, takes a moment to find his own balance against the delightful spinning sensation that comes of a really good buzz, and discovers it just in time to hook an arm around Shin-chan's and haul him back upright. More or less upright. There's a lot of Shin-chan to keep upright, though; he settles for letting Shin-chan lean against his shoulder. They can keep each other upright, that sounds like a good plan.

"I'm fine," Shin-chan insists, while Kazunari goes about inserting himself under Shin-chan's shoulder and steering them in the direction of the exit. "I am not intoxicated in the slightest."

"Sure, Shin-chan, sure." The fact that Shin-chan can say things like that and make them sound plausible is pretty amazing; Kazunari is totally impressed. He can also feel how heavily Shin-chan is leaning on him as they make their way toward the exit, so he doesn't exactly put a lot of stock in it. "Not drunk at all. Gotcha."

"I'm not," Shin-chan insists, and continues to insist, even after they get outside and the chilly air slaps them in the face. "I would never do any so unbecoming."

"Well, _I_ would," Kazunari announces. "And I am. So there!" He laughs again, happy to be through the end of exams and drunk with his uptight best friend.

Even though Shin-chan doesn't seem to have enough coordination left to do more than shuffle down the sidewalk with him, he manages to shove his glasses up his nose without poking himself in the eyeball. The man really does have skills. "You are ridiculous."

Kazunari leans against him and smiles up at him. "I know. Isn't it great?"

Shin-chan doesn't answer him, but that's okay. No one on the planet can make Midorima Shintarou do anything that he doesn't damn well want to do, so if he's here, it's because he wants to be. That's good enough for Kazunari, who hums to himself as they lurch along together—he's a singing drunk, too, but he can't help it if alcohol boosts his natural exuberant charm, can he? Of course not—until Shin-chan asks where they're going.

Kazunari pats the arm that is currently slung around his shoulders. "My place, of course!" It's been a while since the trains stopped running, and it's much closer to the bar than Shin-chan's place—which may or may not have been a factor in which bar Kazunari had lobbied for in the first place. Hey, he may not be a genius, but he does know how to make a cunning plan.

"Why your place?" Shin-chan asks.

It makes Kazunari laugh again, helplessly. "If you have to ask me that, are you _sure_ you're not drunk?"

Shin-chan's blink is slow in the sodium glow of the streetlights; Kazunari's not sure that he isn't blushing, either. "I'm not drunk!" he says again, but it sounds a little forced to Kazunari.

"Of course you're not," Kazunari soothes him. "You're just helping me home because I am, right?" He waits till Shin-chan begins to nod to add, "And once we're there, we're can have sloppy drunk sex, it'll be great."

Shin-chan doesn't stop sputtering for the rest of the way home, not until Kazunari (breathless with laughing) pulls him inside and trips him onto the futon. At that point, talking about who is and isn't drunk becomes a moot point anyway.

(For the record, Shin-chan wakes up the next morning with a hell of a hangover for a guy who wasn't drunk at all.)

* * *

**#Because I saw this piece of art, and it needed a drabble:[[黒バス]落書き詰め[腐アリ]](http://www.pixiv.net/member_illust.php?mode=medium&illust_id=32830948) by [影山](http://www.pixiv.net/member.php?id=3625074)**

There is a set of pictures on Midorima’s phone whose existence he will vociferously deny, at length and at volume, even when his phone is dangled in front of his nose with the incriminating pictures pulled up on the screen. Midorima has an unshakable faith in his own ability to transform reality through sheer force of will; it’s one of his defining traits.

Nevertheless, the photographs exist. There are three of them.

In the first, Takao Kazunari is fast asleep, nuzzled into the pillow he has curled his arms around. His hair falls across his face, too much a mess to be called artfully tousled, and it is limned with the sunlight that falls across the bed. He may, in fact, be drooling just a bit.

In the second, he is waking up, cracking an eye to peer through the fall of his hair. His expression is sleepy, a bit confused, but there is the beginning of a smile hovering at the corners of his mouth. (Those people who know him only on a quotidian basis might be surprised at how soft a smile it is, how private and unlike his ordinary grin.)

In the third picture, the final one and Midorima’s favorite, not that he will admit that he ever reached for his phone to take these pictures in the first place, or that he wanted to have something tangible to remember this morning (the first morning) by, Takao is smiling as he stretches out his hand towards the camera. Or perhaps he is reaching for the person who is holding the camera.

Certainly there are no more photographs to follow that one. Midorima and Takao know why, but they aren’t telling.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cruise vacation

**#leona-dracontis**   
**#Midorima/Takao, cruise vacation**   
**#in which there are umbrella drinks**

Shintarou isn't entirely certain what day it is anymore and isn't sure when the last time he was fully sober was, either. This, Takao assures him, is exactly as it should be. 

He's less convinced than Takao is, but every time it occurs to him to worry a bit over the state of his and Takao's livers, one of the cruise liner's staff realizes that his glass is empty and switches it out for one that is full. Usually there are umbrellas; there is often fruit involved as well, and there is always a _substantial_ amount of rum.

Shintarou stares at the horizon over the railing—deep blue water as far as he can see, and the perfect blue arch of the sky above—and sips the latest drink. This one has both an umbrella _and_ a skewer of violently red cherries and a chunk of pineapple, plus the requisite rum. There may also be coconut involved. It wraps him up in a gently alcoholic haze, and it takes a while before he realizes that he's being addressed.

Takao has spent so much time in the sun these past few days that he's picked up quite the tan. He's lounging on his deck chair with the boneless sprawl of a cat—or a drunk twenty-something on vacation—and he's grinning at Shintarou from beneath the floppy brim of his hat. His smile stretches even wider when he sees that he's finally got Shintarou's attention. "Whatcha thinking about so hard, Shin-chan?"

Shintarou blinks at him, but the truth is—"Nothing, really," he admits. "Nothing at all."

Takao grins and stretches out, looking satisfied. "Damn right." He reaches for his own drink and wraps his mouth around the straw. "Told you this was exactly what the doctor ordered."

"You're not a doctor," Shintarou reminds him, not that doing so ever achieves much.

"Yeah, yeah." Takao brushes a lazy hand through the air, dismissing the reminder. "Anyway. Was thinking I might like to head back to the cabin for a bit."

His eyes a bright over the rims of his sunglasses, and Shintarou doesn't need a translation to know exactly why Takao has made that announcement.

He considers it, sipping his drink meditatively. "In a little while," he says, because he's too comfortable at the moment to move, even with the promise of more sex to tempt him. "There's no rush."

Takao's laughter is delighted. "No rush at all," he agrees, and flags one of the staff down for a refill.

Shintarou picks one of the cherries off the skewer in his own drink and can't remember why on earth he ever protested Takao's vacation choice in the first place.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Married AU | Unconscious seduction

**#lowboys**   
**#MidoTaka, Married AU**   
**#When writing id fic go big or go home**

"You know," Kise said, thoughtfully, as he tweaked one of the flower arrangements, "if you'd asked me before this all went down, I'd have sworn on my mother's grave that Midorimacchi was the one who'd end up being a bridezilla."

"Your mother doesn't have a grave," Akashi said. "She's alive and well and living in Chiba. Does this look straight to you?" He eyed the garland he'd just pinned up, frowning at it critically.

"There's nothing straight about this wedding," Aomine said, lounging at the altar and not actually doing anything to help with the decorating. "Ow! Tetsu! That hurt!" He clutched his ribs, rubbing them and sulking until it became clear that no one was paying him any mind.

"That joke wasn't funny the first time you made it." Kuroko shook his fist out and studied the garlands draped along the aisle. "They look fine to me, Akashi-kun." He resumed winding the white ribbons around the candelabra.

"Of course they look fine to _you_ ," Aomine said. "You're not the crazy one."

"Not so loud," Kise hissed. "He'll _hear_ you."

"No, he won't, he's in the kitchen and freaking out over the wedding cake." Aomine shrugged when they all turned to look at him. "What, I was hungry. I thought maybe Murasakibara would have something I could snack on. Then I realized that there was something wrong with the petit fours and got the hell out of there."

There was a moment of silence while they contemplated a world in which someone could conceivably find fault with something Murasakibara had baked with his own hands. At length, Kise shook his head sadly. "Bridezilla," he pronounced. "Definitely."

Akashi left off fussing with the garlands and reached for his phone. "I'll let Shintarou know that he needs to come and calm his fiancé down. Again."

"You'd think he'd be getting tired of that by now," Aomine observed. "You know, considering."

"I think it's sweet, really," Kuroko said. "Takao-kun just wants everything to be perfect for their big day."

Kise shook his head and added another spray of baby's breath to his flower arrangement. "If any of you decide you want to get married, I will _pay you_ to elope. I mean it. I will write you a check, I swear, just so long as you promise to never make me do this again."

Aomine brightened at that. "How big a check?" he asked, and followed that up immediately by hollering at Momoi as she passed through the hall on some errand of her own. "Hey, Satsuki, Kise says he'll pay us to get hitched, how about it?"

"DREAM ON, DAI-CHAN!" she yelled back, not even breaking stride.

Aomine settled back on his hands. "Well, damn," he sighed. "Ow! Tetsu, stop that!" He rubbed the back of his head. "What was that for?"

"Figure it out yourself," Kuroko said, frosty, tying off the last ribbon.

"What?" Aomine appealed to the rest of them as Kuroko stalked out. "What did I do wrong?"

Kise only shook his head, and Akashi said, "One hardly knows where to begin." He snapped his fingers. "Come here and hold this up for me, I think I can make it hang more evenly."

Aomine slouched over to hold up the garland as directed, but no matter how much he pestered them, they refused to explain what he'd done to earn that head-slap.

It wasn't until long after Midorima and Takao's wedding that he figured it out, but when he did, he was willing to admit that okay, yeah, he'd definitely earned that head-slap fair and square.

And Kise's check was enough to cover the elopement and a pleasant honeymoon in the South Pacific, so it worked out pretty well for everybody in the end.

* * *

**#yorimei**   
**#MidoTaka, Midorima's unconscious seduction**   
**#sometimes the clue trout stings a bit when it slaps you in the face**

So the thing that Takao feels is important to remember is that first of all, he had no idea that Midorima Shintarou was going to enroll at Shuutoku when he set his own sights on Shuutoku—no idea at all, complete cluelessness on his part, it was a complete shock to meet Midorima there. Takao selected Shuutoku for his own reasons and frankly it was a toss-up between Shuutoku (sterling reputation, fantastic basketball team and coach, one of the three kings of Tokyo) and Kaijou (Kasamatsu-san! plus all those other amenities like a fantastic school and basketball team and so forth). The presence or absence of any one of the Generation of Miracles would have been a matter of supreme indifference to him, if he'd even realized they were in play. In the end, not even Kasamatsu-san's manifold charms were enough to outweigh the fact that Takao had zero desire to commute to Kanagawa on a daily basis, so Shuutoku it was. Shin-chan was something in the way of a surprise bonus—a cosmic compensation for giving up on Kasamatsu-san, perhaps.

Takao is convinced that the cosmos has a bizarre sense of humor; Shin-chan probably knows this too, at least in his heart of hearts, though he refuses to own up to it.

Second, Takao didn't start out by being fixated on Midorima in particular or anything. For one thing, that would have been going from acceptable levels of earnest, sportsmanlike declarations of eternal rivalry and crossing over into creepy, stalkerish behavior. For another, the members of the Generation of Miracles were more like a faceless blur in the wake of that humiliating, crushing defeat—who could fixate on a single member when all five (well, six, but that didn't sink in at the time) had united to triple their score? What Takao really remembered from that day was the stinging ache of knowing himself to have been utterly surpassed, that he had just seen basketball played at a level so far above him that he had a better chance of reaching the moon first, and the insidious internal voice that whispered that it was no good, he might as well give up then and there, because there was no point in playing when there were guys like that out there.

He didn't fixate on any single one of them so much as he fixated on the general _idea_ of them, these guys who were geniuses, miraculously good at basketball and wonders on the court. In the wake of that defeat, Takao took stock of himself and his basketball and thought about it long and hard, and said _fuck that_ every time the thought crossed his mind that it would be easier to just give it up and let it go. Things that were worth doing weren't _supposed_ to be easy, or so he'd heard. Making the Generation of Miracles recognize him and his basketball sure as hell wasn't going to be easy—so what? Every boy needs a hobby.

When it turned out that he was going to have a member of the Generation of Miracles for a teammate, Takao just congratulated himself on his good fortune—Shin-chan's proximity just meant that he wasn't going to have to hunting them down to issue challenges. Wasn't that convenient?

Third, and as far as Takao is concerned, this is the really important part, it's not like he got to Shuutoku and met up with Shin-chan and immediately recognized that Shin-chan was going to be, well, pretty damn important to him. It wasn't like bells rang or choirs sang or the clouds parted for a single beam of sunlight to shine down on them or anything. Insofar as Takao recollects his thoughts upon meeting Shin-chan at Shuutoku, they went something like this: _Huh, I think I know that guy—wait, didn't he play for Teikou? I think he did. What the heck was his name, again? Midorima? Something like that. Well, this is handy._

Things like that don't actually happen in real life, and anyway, the first couple months of high school ended up being really busy for Takao, certainly too busy for him to pay attention to anything but not dying of exhaustion. Shuutoku might not have been a premier place to go for folks whose first priority was their academics, sure, but that didn't mean it was a slouch, either, so there was homework and classes to keep his brain occupied. And then there was training for basketball. He'd kept up with his physical conditioning during the break between retiring from his middle school's team and starting high school, sure, but Nakatani-kantoku was some kind of demon for training. The club lost a _lot_ of first-years during the first two weeks of classes, probably because no one really _liked_ running until they puked. That didn't even count staying over at the end of practice, which was apparently de rigueur for anyone with ambitions of being a starter. Takao didn't harbor those kinds of ambitions, at least not in the short term, but since their resident Miracle did it he gritted his teeth and stuck it out, too, drilling himself until he was swaying on his feet and refusing to stagger home until Midorima called it quits for the night.

Yeah, the first couple weeks of high school were pretty brutal and passed in a haze of exhaustion. And then, just when he was starting to get his feet under him, Nakatani-kantoku and Ootsubo-san put their heads together, looked over the surviving first-years, and appointed him Midorima's partner.

There weren't any choirs of angels for _that_ , either, though when Takao found out about the rickshaw, there might have been some howls of the damned.

So the point is simply this: this thing that Takao has with Shin-chan, this weird and awkward friendship that they've built up and the partnership that is more seamless than Takao every would have imagined it could be, this thing of theirs pretty much sneaks up on him while he's not paying attention. (Sadly, the Hawk's Eye really only works on purely physical and spatial terms. Alas.) He doesn't even notice it happening, in between finally telling Shin-chan that they've met before and carting him home after the Interhigh prelim finals and training like hell to get ready for the Winter Cup and then dealing with the disappointment of _almost_ having gone all the way. After that, there's the fuss of exams and getting the team settled after the senpai retire, which then has to be done again when the fresh crop of first-years comes in at the start of the new school year. While all that is happening, a logical progression just as natural as the way spring ripens into summer, he learns to understand Shin-chan's relentless drive towards perfection and the weird superstitious kink of his character, and Shin-chan learns to rely on him and their teammates, and somewhere in there it becomes natural to think of Shin-chan as his partner. By the time that Shin-chan recognizes him and their senpai during the game against Rakuzan, Takao thinks of Shin-chan as a friend, too. The recognition is good, but doesn't feel quite as important as it used to, for some reason. He and Shin-chan have more important things to worry about, like paying Rakuzan and Seirin back.

So it catches him completely by surprise the afternoon that he turns around during a brief break in practice and finds himself arrested by the sight of Shin-chan dragging his shirt off. Groaning first-years litter the landscape around them; at least one of them is whimpering for his mother while the second- and third-years snicker breathlessly. Shin-chan is standing a little apart from them all, bare-chested and gleaming in the July sun. He tips his head back and dumps a bottle of water over himself; it runs down his face and throat and body in gleaming rivulets that transfix Takao's attention. Distantly he is aware of the fact that his mouth has run dry; he's staring and he can't help himself, because holy _shit_ , Shin-chan is possibly the hottest thing he's ever seen in his life.

And that's saying something, because he has his own laptop and an internet connection and he knows how to use them. What, he's seventeen, he's got needs.

Lucky for Takao, or maybe not, it's Inoue who notices him staring and not Shin-chan, and Inoue who kindly does him the favor of elbowing him. It's enough to jar Takao out of his rapt contemplation of the water sliding down Shin-chan's abdomen, anyway, which is probably for the best. He looks at Inoue, who just grins at him, knowing. "Probably wanna save that for your own time," he says, winking before he turns away.

He's right, of course, this is totally something that Takao needs to save to think over and process in privacy, where he can have a proper freakout over the fact that Shin-chan has suddenly been revealed as some kind of living demigod of hotness. And over the fact that that his internal gauge for things that he finds compelling enough to file away for consideration when it's just him and his hand has just redlined. That would be the sensible thing, so of course Takao's gaze veers right back to where Shin-chan is standing.

And as Shin-chan wipes his face and puts his glasses back on and catches him staring, Takao realizes that he is so, _so_ screwed.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #daikonjou  
> #Catverse: What it Midorima had been the one to change instead of Takao?  
> #when writing idfic go big or go home

Takao chalks it up to the novelty of the situation, and who could really blame him? This isn't the kind of thing that happens every day, and in between Nakatani-san's exasperation and the ruckus that Shin-chan's parents raise and the general excitement of their teammates and classmates, there's a lot going on. It's not Takao's fault that it takes him a couple of days to catch on.

For one thing, it's Shin-chan, who doesn't know how to do _anything_ the easy way. That's why he doesn't turn into anything compact and relatively simple to care for, like a cat or a gerbil or something. Oh, no, Shin-chan's gotta be _special_. He stands a full eighty-five centimeters at the shoulder and the top of his head hits right in the middle of Takao's chest, and Takao is absolutely willing to bet he weighs at least fifty kilos like this. Inoue, who knows dogs and dog breeds, says that Shin-chan looks like he might be a borzoi. In practical terms, that means that Shin-chan now has a long, tapering muzzle and wide-set eyes and an awful lot of long, silky fur. Takao has to commend Shin-chan's school spirit: his coat is white, marked with orangey-brown patches across his shoulder and back. 

"It looks like you're still wearing your jersey," he congratulates Shin-chan on the first evening.

Shin-chan gives him a long look, full of silent woe, then pointedly turns his back on Takao and curls himself into a surprisingly compact ball for a dog of his size.

Shin-chan is staying at Chez Takao for a lot of reasons, chief among which is the fact that his parents kicked up a fuss about being on their way out of town and not having the time or inclination to deal with the fact that their son had turned into a giant dog—a giant dog that was clearly freaking the fuck out. It's about the time that they started talking kennels that Takao found himself stepping forward to volunteer himself as a temporary guardian, and privately, he thinks that it explains a lot about Shin-chan that they accepted the offer.

In any case, the first day is full of a lot of fuss, what with the surprise and trouble of getting his hands on dog supplies and then fast-talking his mother around to agreeing to host a surprise house guest for a few day and oh, yeah, talking Shin-chan down until he stops trembling and growling at anyone who approaches him. That itself is a job and a half and Takao feels pretty proud of himself when he finally figures out that Shin-chan has _no idea_ why he suddenly has four legs and a tail and needs to have the whole fairy tale logic of it explained to him.

"Which I guess is the thing," he tells Shin-chan. He's sitting cross-legged on his bed, wearing his pajamas; Shin-chan is sitting bolt-upright and watching every move he makes. Takao has a sneaking suspicion that if it weren't for the advantage of holding the higher ground, Shin-chan would be taller than he is. "I guess we've got to figure out just what it is you need badly enough that you went and turned all fluffy to get it."

He has to admit, the way Shin-chan curls his lips off his teeth and growls is a very persuasive way to indicate irritation.

"Anyway, don't worry! Just hang in there, this shouldn't take more than a couple days to figure out."

It's really kind of insulting, the way Shin-chan contrives to look down his muzzle at him for that.

Day two is easier, mostly because Shin-chan seems to have resigned himself to his new form. That's the only thing Takao can figure when Shin-chan makes an immediate beeline for the rickshaw and hops right in, like he expects to be ferried to school as usual.

"Oh, come _on_ ," Takao says. "You're supposed to _like_ running!" That's what the internet said about borzoi, anyway. 

Protesting works about as well as it ever does, which is to say that it doesn't do any good at all.

He spends most of the day pretending to pay attention to the teachers and thinking about Shin-chan—what he needs that would have driven him to this point, and how to get it for him—while Shin-chan retreats from their classmates and ends up taking refuge under Takao's desk. That doesn't leave Takao much room for his feet, but that's okay: he just tucks them under Shin-chan's hindquarters and lets all that fur keep his toes warm. 

Off-hand, there's only a couple of things he can think of that Shin-chan might want desperately enough to change forms for. Shin-chan's a relatively straightforward creature—no, really, he is, Takao should know, he's the guy's partner and maybe his best friend and all. Everything Takao knows about him comes back to basketball one way or another, so logically speaking, this probably does too, right?

He tries out a few theories at lunch, not that it does much good. The way Shin-chan keeps giving him withering looks as he offers guesses (about winning the Interhigh come summer, about beating Seirin, about beating Rakuzan, about going pro, and so forth) says that it's not about basketball after all. Which kind of sucks and leaves Takao kind of stuck on what it might be, but also means that Shin-chan is still four-legged when it comes time for practice.

As it turns out, Shin-chan does like to run after all, and that—that's something worth watching. It's nothing like watching him sink a three-pointer from all the way across the court, but it _feels_ kind of like the same thing. Like Shin-chan's doing the thing he was born to do. 

He's still running full-tilt, ears and fur rippling with every graceful bound, when the rest of the team keels over in exhaustion, and he only stops when Nakatani-san calls him to heel.

Despite that, Shin-chan makes Takao cart him home in the rickshaw after practice. So much for man's best friend.

Persuading Shin-chan that no, really, he needs to sit still and let himself be brushed—that takes some doing. In the end, Takao has to point out that he looks like a mess and he doesn't want to embarrass himself at school by showing up with his fur all out of order to talk him into it. Shin-chan's coat really isn't all that messy, but what's a little white lie or two in pursuit of getting to put his hands all over Shin-chan? 

Okay, so it's pretty much not at all in the kind of circumstances Takao likes to imagine, and Takao definitely isn't having those kinds of thoughts about Shin-chan's present form because _ew_ , but whatever. His coat is definitely as silky as it looks, and also, the look of horror on Shin-chan's face when Takao finds the spot that makes him kick his hind foot is pretty awesome. And hey, Shin-chan doesn't make him stop—the way Takao figures it, if Shin-chan _really_ hated it, he'd use those teeth to make his feelings clear. Since Shin-chan refrains from biting him... well, Shin-chan must not hate it. QED, Shin-chan's just been all tsundere again, and _that's_ nothing new.

(He finds out that he was right, too: when they're both sitting on the floor, Shin-chan is definitely taller than him. Life just isn't fair.)

By the time he finishes getting Shin-chan's coat all brushed out, the air is full of fine white and fawn dog hairs and Takao's arms are sore. It's totally worth the effort, though: not only is Shin-chan positively _resplendent_ , he also looks totally relaxed and maybe even a little bit blissed-out, which is a nice change from the usual. Takao can't help smiling at it, even though he knows it's probably a sappier expression than he ought to be showing Shin-chan. "You know, this isn't a bad look for you."

Before this, Takao would have sworn there wasn't any possible way a dog could deliver a death glare, but somehow Shin-chan manages it.

He laughs. "Okay, okay, I know, you don't wanna be stuck like this. Be a lot easier to get you unstuck if you could just give me a hint, though."

Shin-chan stares at him and whuffs out a heavy, long-suffering sigh. It's one part _Why do I bother with you?_ and one part _This is horribly embarrassing, I can't believe you're making me do this_ and one part _Well, it's about_ time _you caught a clue_. And then, quite deliberately, Shin-chan stretches himself out and rests his chin on Takao's knee. He gazes up at Takao, and Takao—

Takao blinks, not entirely sure that he's reading this hint properly. Sure, Shin-chan has a remarkable range of expression for someone currently spending his time in the canidae family of the animal kingdom, but even so—that look can't possibly mean what he thinks it does. "Shin-chan..."

Shin-chan heaves another of those sighs—this one has a note of _Why aren't you paying attention?_ —and belly-crawls closer, until he's in position to nudge his head under Takao's fingers.

Oh. Maybe that look _does_ mean what he thinks it does. "Most awkward confession _ever_ , huh?" he says as he curves his palm around the dome of Shin-chan's skull and rubs Shin-chan's ears. "Well, who wants to do things the easy way, huh? That would just be boring."

Shin-chan peers up at him; the sound he makes is practically a whine, nearly subvocal, and there's definitely a worried note in there. Yeah, Takao gets it—one of them is going to have to use his words, and unfortunately, Shin-chan's currently out of the running for that one.

He rubs Shin-chan's ears gently and decides to go with what's easiest. "I like you too," he says.

Shin-chan heaves a sigh; this one is much less exasperated and much more relieved. 

It makes Takao smile. "Sorry," he says, running his fingers through the luxuriant ruff around Shin-chan's neck. "I was trying to figure out how to tell you. Guess I should have moved faster." When Shin-chan snorts, he laughs. "But then I wouldn't have gotten to see what a fantastic dog you make."

And it must be love, because not even _that_ makes Shin-chan try to bite him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #yorimei  
> #Midorima as a surprisingly competent butler  
> #it was either this or the Wodehouse riff #and I don't have the chops to do a Wodehouse riff

For all his dire threats, imprecations, and maledictions on the heads of their classmates, Shin-chan was pulling the whole butler thing off with a certain style and flair that was frankly quite impressive. Unlike some of the other guys in their class, he wore his suit with no apparent self-consciousness whatsoever, apparently as perfectly comfortable in its precisely fitted layers as he was in track pants and a t-shirt. His suit actually fit him, too, not that it was obvious unless he was standing next to Inoue, who had clearly grown a few centimeters since the last time he'd had to wear his suit, or Asada, who must have borrowed an older brother's suit and wasn't doing such a great job of filling it out. Shin-chan's jacket lay smoothly across his shoulders and his shirt cuffs peeped out at his wrists, just the barest finger-width of white to set off the black of the suit itself. What was more, he had tied his own tie—once, properly, without having to be helped and certainly without having to compromise with a clip-on. 

But all that sartorial elegance was nothing compared to the surprising fact that Shin-chan was actually pretty amazing as a butler. Oh, he had railed against the class decision to host a butler and maid café for the school festival, and he had just about sprained something in his strenuous efforts to escape being drafted as one of the butlers, and he'd spent the lead-up to the day of the festival in a distinctly dour mood once it had been made clear that he could not escape his fate. But now that the day had come, Shin-chan was performing admirably. He greeted each new batch of customers in perfect form, unlike Inoue (who was a born clown and couldn't help mugging for their giggling customers) or Asada (who had come over unexpectedly tongue-tied in the face of some doting senpai—not that Takao could blame him for that, since they'd also looked sort of predatory).

Shin-chan, though, was correct on every point. He conducted each of his customers to her—or, _his_ in the case of the basketball club, which had descended on their classroom en masse in order to have the pleasure of ordering Shin-chan around—seat with quiet deference. He hovered over his customers solicitously as they pored over the menu and stayed close at hand while they drank their tea or coffee and nibbled on the cakes and cookies that the girls working the cooking station were plating up as fast as they could. The whole maid and butler café thing was definitely turning out to be a success for their class, there was no doubt about it, and it was _clearly_ thanks in no small part to Shin-chan.

"I dunno," Miyaji-senpai said when Takao confided this in him. It was Miyaji-senpai's third visit to their classroom, and he was clearly enjoying their service quite a bit, even if he'd ended up in Takao's section this time around instead of Shin-chan's. "I think you're underestimating yourself, Takao- _chan_."

Takao put his hands to his cheeks and did a fairly credible giggle, if he did say so himself. "Oh, _you_ ," he trilled. "You're going to make me blush."

Miyaji-senpai snorted. "Yeah, somehow I doubt that." He peeled some more coupons off his stack and thrust them at him. "Go get me some more coffee, and bring me some more of those little cookie things with the sprinkles."

"Right away, senpai," Takao lilted. He made sure to put some extra swing in his hips, just for Miyaji-senpai's benefit, because hey, he wasn't going to complain if the basketball team wanted to spend all their money on making Shin-chan cater to him while they laughed at the frilly maid dress that was his own lot for the day. For one thing, the class was making serious bank because of that.

For another, not that Takao would have admitted it for the world, it was deeply gratifying to sashay past Shin-chan on their way back and forth from the cooking station and flutter his eyelashes _down_ at him. The platform heels the costuming committee had foisted on him were killing his feet and were probably going to cripple him for life, assuming he didn't break his ankles falling off them first, but Takao didn't care. It was totally worth it for the way Shin-chan's eye twitched every time he had to tip his head back to look _up_ at Takao for a change.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #wrenchpops  
> #Midorima/Takao, photoshoot  
> #in which 'pics or it didn't happen' is a perfectly valid response

"Wait," Takao had said, grinning ear to ear, "wait, no, I don't believe it. _You_ , Shin-chan? _You_? I don't believe it. It's impossible."

Nettled, Midorima had replied without thinking. "Are you calling me a liar?"

"I'm saying pics or it didn't happen," Takao replied instantly. For some reason, his grin looked rather shark-like. "No offense, Shin-chan, but you gotta admit that it's just not probable."

"I don't keep _copies_ ," Midorima said, irritated. "What do you even think I am, some kind of egotist?"

Takao lounged back on his hands, flicking his gaze over Midorima, head to toe. "Well, I don't know. I definitely didn't figure you for an underwear model, that's for sure."

"Then obviously you figured wrong." Midorima glared at Takao, who didn't seem to be particularly moved by this argument and was still eyeing him with obvious skepticism. "Fine. You may as well come and see for yourself."

The moment the words left his mouth, he knew that they were a mistake, but by then it was much to late to take them back. Takao's grin turned even toothier. "I think I'm going to have to," he agreed, and at that point, Midorima knew that it was all over but the crying. 

He was fairly certain there would be crying; he'd seen Takao laugh himself to the point of tears before.

Ultimately, it was all Kise's fault, of course. Midorima would never have thought of modeling of any kind at all if Kise hadn't taken it into his head to join the basketball team. He'd brought his fans with him, naturally, and he'd also brought his agent, a sharp-eyed woman who had taken one look at Teikou's starting line-up and nearly swooned on the spot with glee. To his knowledge, none of them had been much interested in modeling. There hadn't been any basketball involved, which had lost Aomine right away, and Murasakibara had said it sounded like too much trouble. Akashi had declined because he'd thought his father wouldn't think it seemly, and Midorima himself had thought that the whole thing was simply preposterous. (And, of course, Kise's agent had overlooked Kuroko altogether.)

That had been before his parents had decided that they were tired of purchasing lucky items and told Midorima that he would have to find his own way to finance his collection. Midorima had weighed the limits and constraints of his allowance and crunched the numbers and reluctantly realized that needs, as it was said, must.

He still thought the whole thing was preposterous, but the money wasn't bad and for the most part the final copy rarely showed anything much above his collarbones, and since he strenuously resisted Iwao-san's efforts to get him to branch out into more diverse lines of modeling, he had relatively little publicity to care about. It was a satisfactory arrangement, as far as it went, and Midorima had thought very little about it... at least until Takao had pestered him into explaining why he would not be available on a particular Saturday afternoon. It would have happened sooner or later, Midorima supposed, but he had to admit that he had really been hoping for later.

It couldn't be helped, and though he brought several misgivings to the scheduled photoshoot along with Takao, at first everything seemed to go all right. Takao's natural gregariousness meant that he was at home almost as soon as he'd clipped his visitor's badge to his collar, and Midorima left him asking Kaida-san surprisingly intelligent questions about photography when he went to get dressed and styled.

He even dared to hope that this would be a sign that this excursion would go smoothly and unremarkably as he wrapped a robe around himself to keep the chill off.

Of course, he should have known better.

The funny thing about modeling was how little of it was actually about sex, at least while they were actually in the middle of a shoot. Once upon a time, that had surprised Midorima—had seemed odd when he'd realized that when they were working, no one was paying attention to the fact that some of the people involved were standing around in nothing but their underwear. It hadn't made sense, not until he'd realized that during the shoot itself, he was as much of a prop as the set itself, and that all that really mattered was the effect being achieved by how he held himself. No one was really looking at _him_ —they were looking at the cumulative effect of light and shadow and shape.

Kise had made a great deal more sense to Midorima after he'd realized that.

Takao was hanging back, talking animatedly with one of the set gofers when Midorima strolled onto the set and exchanged nods with the other models. Satisfied that Takao was behaving himself and not disrupting things, Midorima turned his attention to the job. It wasn't particularly exciting work, actually; it involved a lot of adopting a pose, holding it while Kaida-san took several shots, making minute adjustments to how he was standing, and then holding still some more while they repeated the process. The whole thing was very tedious, really.

Or it _was_ tedious until Midorima turned in obedience to one of Kaida-san's instructions and caught sight of Takao watching him. Takao wasn't looking at him the way anyone else on the set was, as though Midorima was no more than a breathing mannequin. He was watching Midorima as though—as though he _saw_ Midorima, was looking at _him_ and liking what he was seeing.

Kaida-san snapped at him, irritably, and Midorima belatedly dragged his attention back to the job at hand, more or less. He couldn't quite banish the uneasy awareness of Takao's gaze lingering on him, strangely heavy for something absolutely intangible. It wasn't the first time someone had ever looked at him like that—professionalism was for the duration of the shoot, not necessarily the aftermath—but it was peculiarly jarring to feel while the camera was clicking away, and from someone he knew and... from someone he knew. He had trouble staying focused on what he was doing, suddenly and sharply conscious of his body, the rhythm of his heartbeat and his breath and the heat of the studio lights on his skin and the positively flimsy layer of cloth that really wasn't doing anything at all to preserve his modesty—

Midorima hadn't been this relieved to be dismissed at the end of his _first_ modeling session, and hurried to dress himself again with more haste than was seemly, though he wasn't entirely sure what, if anything, he was supposed to do with this new awareness.

Takao seemed perfectly normal when Midorima found him again. He talked cheerfully about the homework that they had due Monday morning while they headed for the train station. Midorima tried to mimic his casual mood, which should have been easier now that he was armored in several more layers of clothing, but it was difficult. What, he wondered, had Takao meant by looking at him like that? What did he mean by acting as though everything was normal now?

He did not get an answer until they were nearing the place where their paths home would separate. "So, hey, thanks for letting me come along today." Takao had his hands stuffed in his pockets, slouching along and acting like Midorima had invited him to go to the movies or something normal. "It was interesting."

Now was the time to say something, to ask Takao what was going on. Midorima opened his mouth to do so and found himself saying, "You're welcome."

"Never would have expected to see that side of you," Takao carried on, blithely ignoring the stilted reply. He glanced at Midorima, watching him from the corner of his eye. "You're a complicated guy, Shin-chan."

Midorima wasn't sure whether to be relieved or disappointed that Takao ignored the obvious joke about how much of him he'd seen. "It pays well."

"Mm." Takao hummed, quiet. After a bit, he said, "So, say someone asked you for a private modeling session. What would you say?"

Midorima kept his eyes focused straight ahead, conscious of the way his palms had gone a little damp, not to mention his relief that Takao had found a way to proceed. "I suppose it would depend on who did the asking. And how they did it."

"Yeah?" Takao hummed again. "I guess that's good to know." He was grinning when Midorima chanced a look at him. "Well, this is my turn. Guess I'll see you later, Shin-chan!"

"Yes," Midorima said, conscious of the speculative light in Takao's eyes. "I'll see you Monday."

Takao grinned at him and tossed a jaunty wave at him as he sauntered away. 

Midorima watched him go and continued on his way with a number of new things to consider and a distinct sense that whatever happened next was going to be very interesting indeed.


End file.
